Fair Shares
by ketren
Summary: COMPLETE. Gen. "That little bunny's gonna burn out in a heartbeat," Clawhauser casually tells Nick one day after work. Even as a slacker who counts on Judy to do his half of the paperwork, Nick's going to make sure that doesn't happen. After all, what's a little spying, stalking, and enforced rules between partners?
1. Evidence, Item 1: Paperwork

**Warnings:** None.

 **Pairings:** None.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own _Zootopia._ I just wrote a story.

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Evidence, Item #1: Paperwork

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"One more shot. One more shot," Nick mutters to himself as he gingerly makes the last crease in his mileage log sheet.

"That's what you said the last five times," Judy reminds him from somewhere over his shoulder.

Grinning in spite of himself, Nick shakes his head without turning around. "Can it, carrot," he says. "Can't you see I'm concentrating?" To the sound of her laughter, he draws his elbow back and takes aim before flinging the paper out of the window in one quick motion.

The pair of them watches as the folded airplane glides in the evening breeze, the fiery orange of the setting sun catching on the white of its wings. It flutters in a dangerously wide arc, much too wide to hit the trash can Nick has been targeting, until a gust of wind from a passing car sweeps it back on track. With a tiny, almost inaudible _plink,_ its nose butts the very top inch of the can and it falls inside.

"Yes!" Nick exclaims, throwing his fists in the air as he leans back in his seat. "Did you _see_ that?" He swivels to look at Judy, who is by now staring purposefully at her own stack of paperwork.

"See what?" she replies, and if it weren't for her mischievous smile, he might have believed she hadn't been leaning forward for a better view same as him.

" _That_ was a genius throw," he says, scooting his chair back into place.

" _That_ was a stroke of luck," she retorts primly, picking up her pen to return to work.

"It was talent," Nick says. "Come on, Judy, don't you want to fold some airplanes, too? We could make a game of it, unless you're not sure you can take me on?"

"What I _want,_ " Judy replies, hiding a smile, "is for my partner to stop putting paper into the trash. We have a recycling program here, remember?"

"Yeah, but the recycling bins are so far...and there are lids on them," Nick moans, turning to the window where the row of green bins sits across the street.

Judy just snorts, shaking her head in the way that indicates she's done with this line of conversation. She settles forward into her seat, lavender eyes moving with the words on the page as she taps a pen absentmindedly on the edge of the desk, and Nick knows he's lost her.

Sighing, he leans back in his chair until it's in danger of toppling over, staring morosely at his own stack of paperwork. If he'd known in advance how much paperwork a member of the ZPD had to do, he might have thought twice about joining. Well, alright, not really—but it does seem like an egregious waste of time to him, detailing every daily incident from an activity log to gas slips and from paw print documentation to equipment requisition forms. And so _boring._

In his chats with the other officers, all of them assure Nick that the paperwork gets a little easier over time, though it never really goes away. Once you have a sense of what to fill out when, and which sections aren't really needed, it cuts back on the time spent.

But that doesn't really help Nick right _now_. As is becoming habit, he and Judy are the last mammals in the ZPD bullpen at the end of the day. The police station is still not outfitted with desks for animals of their lightweight class, so Chief Bogo had an officer ask the schoolhouse down the street to borrow a table, which now balances atop the larger heavyweight class desk near a window in the corner of the room. The added height, Nick thinks, is mostly so Chief Bogo doesn't have to bend over to talk to them, but it has the added bonus of giving them a great view out of the window.

Out of the open window, where the world smells fresh after the last of the morning's rain. The dying sunlight glints on the slick puddles covering the walkway two stories below. A trio of young raccoons splashes through, giggling and pulling their tails around to their stomachs to keep their fur dry. In the distance is the rattle of a tram just out of sight on the rail line, probably on its way to drop off its assortment of suited mammals heading home for the day. A breeze brings a whiff of spices and the smell of gafflower fritters right into Nick's face, and he inhales deeply and heaves a sigh, leaning against the window pane.

A few weeks ago, he would have been out there in the wide open air with everyone else, enjoying a moment of peace after a hard day's work—well, alright, _work_ would be a strong word—and ready to find something thrilling to do in the heart of the city or else head home for some rest. Not that he doesn't still get to do those things, but paperwork eats a fair amount of his former free time these days.

At the sound of his sigh, Judy looks up. "It's just so _nice_ outside," he says, turning in his seat. "And I'm starving. And we're stuck doing paperwork instead of eating whatever it is they're roasting around the corner. Can you believe it?"

His partner rests one cheek on a tiny fist, the fur around her whiskers fluffing, and stares at him. Nick works his face out of its usual lazy, self-satisfied expression and into something more earnest. It's not that he's _hustling_ her, exactly—by now, both of them know exactly what he's doing—but he knows that her sympathy flares up in spite of herself whenever he looks particularly sincere.

"You could probably swindle a mob boss," Judy mutters under her breath, but when Nick places a paw over his heart in a dramatic _you-wound-me_ sort of way, she smiles and rolls her eyes. "Oh, give me the rest of yours. We both know you're only going to fill them out halfway anyway."

Without hesitation, he slides his stack of papers toward her. "You, my friend, are a mammal of exemplary quality—"

"Shut up and get us some gossip," she retorts, shooing him away. "Did officers Sing and Adam ever find that badger stealing from the Snarlbucks cash register?"

"You'll know when I do," Nick says cheerfully, and he hops off the side of the table and onto the floor, rolling his shoulder blades until they crack. The room widens around him, the legs of tables and chairs creating a claustrophobic forest between him and the door, and Nick hesitates, turning back. After a moment, he clambers onto a chair, pressing his elbows onto the edge of the table. _It's not like I'm leaving the worst of it to her,_ he reasons. _We do all of the important papers together, and it's only the stupid mileage logs and squad car checks and call reports I can't stand._ "You really don't mind, do you, Carrot?"

"What?" Judy asks absently, not looking up from the paper right away. "Oh, no, it's fine. You—" she blinks down at something on the page, frowning suspiciously, and then picks it up so he can see it. "Nick. Why are there doodles of blueberry muffins in the margins of this tow truck log form?"

"Oh, will you look at the time?" Nick says easily, baring his teeth in a half-grin, half-grimace. He slinks off the chair before she can protest, shoving his paws into the pockets of his regulation trousers as he weaves in and out of the tables. Just as he reaches the door, something hits the back of his head with a soft _plink._ He turns around, scratching his fur, to find a paper airplane lying on the floor a few feet away. He looks up in surprise.

Judy is perched primly in her chair, one eyebrow raised. "Bogo's gonna kill you one day, you know," she tells him.

"No, he won't. Not with you to watch my back," he replies easily.

She grumbles something that sounds like _lucky you_ under her breath, but she doesn't sound unhappy. Nick smiles and turns smartly on his heel.

Lucky indeed. Lucky he found a partner who thinks his shifty shenanigans are endearing instead of obnoxious.

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What they don't teach you in the academy is the value of gossip.

Facts are valuable too, obviously. Nothing can compete with the rigidity of the truth, and the truth is what makes its way into every report and form and document an officer submits. But if you don't have all the facts yet, gossip is the next best thing—at least for someone who knows what to do with it. A decent rumor might not be trustworthy, and it might not even align with the truth in the end, but to a shrewd officer, it can point the way to answers.

No one knows this better than Nick. Con artists make a living off of hearsay: are the whispers about a demented boss based in truth, or are they a malicious attempt to have her reprimanded for "erratic behavior?" Are the rumormongers _really_ concerned about the integrity of a bridge being built between two districts, or are they worried about the state of the neighborhood? Are rumors about a fellow student's weird habits just playful gossip, or are they signs of underlying tension and bullying?

And then, of course, it's all about who spills the gossip and how they say it. The whole thing is exceedingly complex—much more complex than the standard facts, which have to be carefully dug out of the hearsay over time—but Nick's a professional when it comes to rumors. The fox prides himself on his ability to get more out of a whisper than some mammals can get out of a full confession.

So at the end of every day, Nick goes off to do what he does best: sift through the day's gossip. The best place to do this is usually the breakroom, but it's late. Nick can already hear that the halls are empty of the usual growling laughter and whinnying that signifies the other officers' conversations. It's a disappointment, because there are few rumors as helpful as those swapped between officers, but there's no help for it.

Nick could probably catch them if he _had_ to; Officer Fhum and some of the other welterweights are partial to plum sours at the Gallop Inn after work, or maybe at Infinite Monkey Tavern. But he'd rather wait for Judy—not that he says as much to her face, of course, but she knows he always hangs around until she's done.

Barring gossip with the other officers, the next best thing is a chat with Clawhauser at reception: the radio dispatcher is like a magnet for the latest news and gossip all in one place, meaning that Nick won't have to seek info from multiple sources. Decided, Nick changes direction and pads down the hallway toward the front entrance.

Surrounded by empty boxes of food, the cheetah is slumped over onto the desk, paws resting under his chin and eyes half-lidded in obvious boredom. It's around this time of the evening that the dispatcher's boundless energy simmers into something a little more low-key in anticipation of his clock out at seven.

"Claws!" Nick calls lazily.

The cheetah straightens at once, turning to face Nick with a beaming smile. "Officer Wilde! _Thank. Goodness._ It's always so weirdly quiet in here in the evening."

Nick hops onto the stool the maintenance staff placed near the desk specifically for Judy and him, which helps make sure Clawhauser doesn't break his back leaning over the lip of the table to talk to them. "Tell me about it. I guess the others are all out?"

"Yeah, they barely even stayed long enough to hear the news," Clawhauser replies morosely, beginning to pile the empty boxes together.

Nick's ears perk up. "The news?"

"Sweet fudge nuggets," Clawhauser says, turning to him with wide eyes. "You haven't heard?"

"We've been in the bullpen all evening," Nick explains, pressing his elbows onto the edge of the table.

Clawhauser leans onto the desk, ears flicking a little in the way that happens when he's sure he's got good news. "Well," he replies excitedly, inhaling before launching into a breathless exclamation, "you wouldn't know, then, because this _just_ came out, and I mean _just,_ but Gazelle is in talks to host this year's Rammys! Can you _believe_ it? It's always been hosted by guys before _—_ last couple years, it's been those bighorn groups out of West Woolton—and it's just _such_ a huge deal, I mean, girl power for real right now, am I right?"

All of a sudden, Nick remembers why he doesn't usually get gossip from Clawhauser. "Wow, that's...really something," he replies, letting his ears fall back into place. "Do—"

"And it's all because of her last single, you know. No one's saying it, but I swear it is. I mean, that was just _too good_ not to be an award winner. Have you heard it?"

"Uh—actually—"

"Oh, no, that's okay! Look, I have it right here. Let me just…"

Concealing a sigh as Clawhauser pulls out his phone, Nick resigns himself to listening to the song in its entirety, probably multiple times. The music video for _Your Hide and My Fur,_ he learns, features scantily clad outfits and (as the name might suggest) way more visible fur than seems strictly necessary. Nick's good at being a phony, though, and he can feign curiosity with the best of them provided that it's in his best interest. Fortunately, after nearly a quarter of an hour, Clawhauser either notes his disinterest or finally tires of discussing the finer points of Gazelle's groundbreaking dance style, because he allows Nick to steer the subject of their conversation back to police work.

As it turns out, there's nothing of particular interest: this afternoon's warrant for the Snarlbucks thief doesn't seem to be related in any way to the mushroom smuggling case he and Judy are working, and other than the fact that Officers Francine and Fhum are in another fight (something about upholding their records for the highest number of arrests), the day has been a slow one for the ZPD.

"Oh, but you can bet they'll get over it," Clawhauser assures Nick. "They've been at this for almost three decades, and they could start a blood feud over who has better handwriting and then make up over some spiked willow-bark punch ten minutes later. Nothing like you and Judy," he adds, flicking his tail in lazy circles at his back. "Where _is_ Judy, anyway?"

"Oh, wrapping up some paperwork," Nick says. He peers at the clock above the hallway leading to the bullpen: almost a quarter past six. Not the latest they've ever been by far.

Clawhauser hums, resting his chin on his fists. Rolls of fur spill over either side. "That little bunny's gonna burn out in a heartbeat," he states, almost absentmindedly.

There's something very solemn in his voice, something _decided_ that makes the fur on Nick's shoulders stand up. "What do you mean by that?" he asks.

His expression must have melted into something anxious or angry, because Clawhauser hurries to add, "Oh. You know, just—nothing. Really, nothing at all." The cheetah fidgets, drumming his fingers against the desk. Nick waits for a few beats, trying to appear more patient than he feels, and Clawhauser finally sighs. " _You_ know how rabbits are—it's in their biology or something. They're all... _hardworking,_ and dedicated. Farmers, and whatever. They're always off toiling away on some field somewhere to help grow food for the rest of us. Which is great! Food is great."

"You're babbling, Claws," Nick says tiredly.

"Alright, alright." He rubs a paw over the back of his head. "Do you know how many rabbits have made it past even _the first stage_ of the Academy? None. Not to say that many of them apply; I mean in the years I've been here, there've been, like...maybe sixty or seventy rabbits who applied for stations across the city. Compared with a couple thousand of the other animals from welterweight and middleweight and heavyweight classes. But even so, to not make it past _the first stage?_ And it's not from lack of trying, it's just that they're used to constant work, I guess. And so they...overdo it. Burn out. Even with the basics like studying and materials. Dunno what it is, 'cause I've met tons of rabbits who seem laid back most of the time, but you get a rabbit in a room and tell him to get to work, and he'll throw himself at whatever you put in front of him. Even if it's too much all at once."

Nick takes a moment to let all of this sink in. Clawhauser, obviously uncomfortable, begins tidying his desk once more. "Not Judy," Nick says finally.

"Well, obviously! I mean, she made it _way_ past the first stage. She's done! And that means she probably knows what she's doing now."

 _Probably,_ Nick agrees, though his stomach is sinking. Maybe letting her do some of his share of the paperwork isn't the best idea after all—but it's not like he's noticed any warning signs. This is _Judy,_ after all. She'll chase a galloping antelope without a second thought and brush off any injuries with a spring in her step.

"Besides," Clawhauser adds thoughtfully after a moment, "she has you. A partner. Applicants are going it alone, you know? And you're pretty levelheaded about your work."

Which is a diplomatic way of saying that Nick takes a more lenient approach to things like due dates. "Yeah," Nick replies, rubbing his chin. "Yeah, I guess I'll just have to make sure to rub off on her."

"Hey, guys!" a voice says from over Nick's shoulder. He turns to find Judy standing in the hall leading from the bullpen, a cheerful grin splitting her face. She skips over—positively _skips_ , like a schoolbunny—to meet them at reception, where she hops onto the stool beside Nick. "Nick, I thought you'd have gone already?"

She seems genuinely pleased that he's waited, as she always is. It's one of the things Nick likes about her, the fact that he always knows what he's getting. Being friends with other con artists used to make it hard to tell when someone was being sincere or when they were patting you on the back just in order to ask you for favors later. With Judy, there's no mistaking that she's glad of his company.

"What would I do without my favorite partner to nag me about everything?" he replies, easily falling into their usual banter. "How did the rest of the paperwork go?"

"Oh, it's all done. I scanned it all and left it on Chief Bogo's desk."

 _Probably with detailed diagrams and a list of footnotes to boot,_ Nick thinks. He coughs, glances uneasily at Clawhauser, and adds, "Maybe I really should have stayed to finish. It's probably not good to have you doing so much of it."

"Are you kidding?" Judy asks teasingly. "We want it to be _legible,_ remember?"

"Is his handwriting that bad?" Clawhauser writes, leaning forward to get whatever juicy drama he can squeeze from their conversation. Nick shoots him a wounded glare, which he ignores.

"It's worse than you're imagining," Judy replies, patting Clawhauser's wrist. They share identical predatory grins—which, really, Judy shouldn't have been able to manage, given her dainty, conventionally prey-like face. "And besides that, did you know that your notes are about twenty-eight percent shorter than mine are, on average?"

Nick sputters in surprise. "What? You just made a number up!" He laughs.

"Nope!" she retorts pleasantly. "The word count for your scans was lower than mine, and I wanted to see how much."

"Is it my fault that I don't _need_ detailed notes? Everything I need is up here," Nick says, tapping a finger against his head.

Judy rolls her eyes, as much for Clawhauser's benefit as for Nick's. " _Right._ Except last week, when we were called out for that criminal trespassing case for the Canine Friendly Society out in Rainforest District, and you conveniently forgot that your old pal—"

"Aaaand that's enough of that," Nick interrupts, pressing a paw to her face. He feels her smile beneath the pads of his paw as Clawhauser leans forward eagerly. "How 'bout we discuss the rest of the case? Maybe over dinner?"

"The Warren Cafe," Judy chirps, pulling his paw away. "You're buying."

Nick feigns a groan, but he's satisfied with how things turned out. Judy makes their excuses to Clawhauser ("Oh, fine, just _leave me,_ " he wails dramatically. "I'll just have to blast Gazelle over the loudspeakers again, since no one's here...") and they set off into the violet twilight of Zootopia.

As they walk, Judy rambling aimlessly about the new alfalfa tea she's been dying to try, Nick watches her carefully for signs of—what? Fatigue? Anxiety? Stress? If she's feeling overworked, Judy never shows it. It's only when she elbows him pointedly in the side, asking what's nipping at his tail, that he shakes the thoughts off.

"I was just thinking that you rabbits have the weirdest taste. I mean, seriously. _Alfalfa?_ Who thought _that_ was a good idea?"

And then it's a good-natured argument. And all is right with the world.

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	2. Evidence, Item 2: Rest Days

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 **Evidence, Item #2: Rest Days**

 **.**

In spite of his self-assurances, Nick keeps an eye on Judy over the next day or so. Nothing about her attitude or appearance suggests that anything is wrong. She's as stubbornly chipper and determined as ever, even when they find themselves unexpectedly wading through hippo dung en route to one of their more weaselly capybara suspects (while warning Nick that "weaselly" is something that _one weasel_ can say to _another weasel,_ but outside of that, it's not very PC—especially if you aren't talking about a weasel at all).

They make a stunning team wherever they go, and it's still new enough to Nick to be distracting. Being a con artist is a very secretive craft, and the mark of a successful one is that you never find out you've been had, or at least not until much too late. But as the two of them combine one of Nick's strategies with Judy's speed to take down the charging capybara, earning a few cheers from bystanders, it's hard not to feel a bloom of pride in his chest. And while Nick probably wouldn't admit it aloud, the praise from the chief—which is patently hard to come by—makes him feel even better.

Judy does all of the paperwork for that one, insists on it really, and Nick doesn't protest much. After all, his rumor-seeking efforts pay off when he catches wind that a cross-examination of one of Officer Grizzoli's suspects suggested that the perpetrators for their mushroom case are hanging around the Plains Quarter.

"That would make so much sense!" she says, bounding excitedly as she deposits the day's paperwork into the appropriate inboxes on Chief Bogo's desk. Nick's not sure she's aware she tends to jump about more when she's excited about a lead. He meets her enthusiasm with a lazy grin. "Amanita mushrooms need a warm climate, but also humid, and the Plains Quarter is _right_ on the line between Savanna Central and the Rainforest District. It would make them so much easier to traffick…"

Nick nods, leading them out of the door and toward reception. "But remember, the guy wasn't completely sure that's where they're _growing_ the mushrooms, just that they're seen in that area a lot."

"Right, right, right," Judy replies. On her way out, she picks her bag up off the floor, slinging it over one shoulder before stretching her arms overhead. "I don't know. We'll have to figure out how they're growing them."

"Yeah. Where are we going? Please tell me no more alfalfa tea. I'll even take Shrubs and Grubs over that cafe."

Judy suddenly looks embarrassed, ears dropping to half-mast. "Actually, it's kind of late."

"Late?" Nick parrots. The reception area is bustling, with a line of mammals waiting for Clawhauser's attention. Sunlight still streams from the rooftop windows, and Officers Higgins and Snarlof are here, which means it can't be past five yet—much earlier than they usually finish up.

"It's Thursday," Judy reminds him. "Usually a half-day for us, remember? But then you caught a rumor, and we were off chasing capybaras. Which is great, really! But...I'm gonna be late."

"Late?" Nick parrots again. "Late for what?"

The embarrassed expression hasn't left Judy's face. "If you laugh…" she warns dangerously.

"Me? Laugh?" Nick replies, but it probably doesn't help that he's grinning already. He tries and fails to give her his best _who, innocent little me?_ look.

She sighs. "I'm an assistant coach for some kids on our half days. It's a soccer team."

Nick blinks. He isn't sure what he expected, but this somehow fits. His grin widens. "Wow. That's—"

"If you say 'adorable,' I will kill you."

"I was going to say 'charitable.'"

She punches him in the shoulder as he laughs. " _Any_ way, I'll see you tomorrow. I have to go; it's half past three." She shrugs a shoulder to adjust the strap of her bag and begins moving off toward the exit. Curiosity peaked, Nick trails behind her casually, paws fisted in his pockets and tail swishing behind. It takes her a moment to realize he's following her. "What are you doing?" she asks suspiciously.

"Stalking you," he replies, raising his eyebrows. "If we aren't going out to for a drink or to some cafe, then my schedule is suddenly wide open. And besides, community involvement is _so important—_ it's one of the ZPD's tenets, remember?"

Judy rolls her eyes, but in spite of the exasperation inherent in her body language, her smile indicates that she's pleased. She turns away again, heading for the tram station at the end of the boulevard. "Alright. But _no jokes_ about bunnies being good kickers, or—or anything else. And _no coaching the kids._ Seriously, there's no telling what kind of damage you could do to the team."

"Damage?" Nick says, feigning offense. Now that they're out of the ZPD building, he loosens his tie with a yawn. "I'll have you know I have a lot of athletic experience, all throughout high school and college."

"Yeah? Doing what?"

"Running from people."

"Track and field?"

"Nah, running from people I scammed. Hey, it's a sport," he adds easily, dodging her elbow.

It's not quite rush hour, and the tram isn't as packed as it will be later this afternoon. They find a seat at the back of the vehicle, where a handful of the riders shoot surreptitious, awed glances at them or gesture in their direction. Nick and Judy are prominent faces on the ZPD force now, a fact that Nick still has some trouble getting used to. It feels almost surreal when a young giraffe approaches them, followed by his amused and somewhat exasperated mother, to ask for a photograph.

After a few minutes, though, they're left alone as all of the passengers turn back to the monotony of their commute. Nick and Judy chat about office politics and Clawhauser's terrible jokes and _Giraffic,_ the latest box office flick, as the skyscrapers and intricate palm trees of Savanna Central flash past outside their window. They pass the usual stop where Nick gets off, heading instead in the direction of Little Rodentia.

Judy stands to exit right before they cross over the border. "Coming?" She asks. Nick rises wordlessly to follow.

This is the area where Judy now lives, the district between Little Rodentia and the heart of Savanna Central. The streets here are much quieter than those downtown, with buildings in muted, rosy colors and tiny swathes of cottony saxifrage flowers blooming in window pots. Most, but not all, of the mammals in sight are larger rodents: a family of gophers at the crosswalk, a group of young beavers eating at an outdoor gazebo across the way, a rotund grey cavy struggling with his groceries, a porcupine picking up trash on the street corner. In addition to Judy, there are a few lagomorphs as well—Nick spots a pika and a few hares.

"When are they going to start calling this place _Medium Rodentia?_ " Nick wonders aloud. Judy ignores him, already moving toward Scurriton Public No. 38. The school is not particularly tall or imposing, as it obviously caters to the sizes of the students who live in the district, but the brown-bricked exterior is neat and tidy. Instead of climbing the front stairs, Judy takes the sidewalk around the back of the school, where an open field houses a few dozen young rodents.

The students are a mix of sizes, with a few hedgehogs, mice, and chinchilla of the featherweight class as well as a few members of the lower lightweight class: young raccoons and prairie dogs and a ferret. They greet "Miss Judy" eagerly, swarming around her with a level of fervent enthusiasm Nick has only ever seen from young kids.

Judy goes off into the back of the building, returning in a shirt and shorts of breathable fabric reminiscent of their academy training gear. Nick sinks onto a bench in the stands, settling in to watch her and the other two coaches run the kids up and down the field, dishing out encouragement and reprimands in equal measure. Eager to please, the kids run faster when she's watching, gnashing their little teeth in determination and wearing their little legs into exhaustion.

Thing is, they're obviously playing with a soccer ball designed for lightweight class kids, not smaller featherweights. It's not too much of a problem for the larger students, but Nick watches one or two of the tiny mice struggle to pick up the pace with a ball that comes up practically to waist height.

It would almost be laughable if it weren't for the fact that Judy would skin him alive if he cracked a smile, and that the kids all seem so serious. _This is work,_ their expressions say. _This is war._ He waits until they all take a break, sweaty and hovering around the water fountain, before he points it out to Judy.

"They're technically...an inner-city lightweight league, since they aren't...within the borders of Little Rodentia," she explains, still panting a little. "But obviously, with so many featherweight-class kids…" Here, she trails off, shaking her head as she takes a long drink from her water bottle. "They just want to get as far as they can. And with a little bit of practice, we can get a few tricks up their sleeves."

She says it firmly, determinedly, and he gives her a solemn nod. Then he grins. "Tricks, huh? Sounds like a plan." She looks at him in amusement. "By the way, I didn't know you played. Or used to play. Obviously." Judy's skill is unmistakable, the way she darts in and out of the other players without losing control of the ball in the slightest.

"Yeah, it was kind of a thing in my hometown when I was a kid. There wasn't much else to do, and...well. Bunnies are good kickers," she adds, and he laughs. "Hey, _I_ can say it," she retorts defensively through her own laughter.

After a few minutes, the break is over, and she stands again for the next half of the practice. Nick takes the opportunity to jump in as well now that Judy seems to trust him not to make light of the whole thing. The fox prides himself on his ability to keep up with his partner—despite the fact that it's pretty much undeniable that rabbits are, in general, a great deal faster than most mammals—but the added footwork with the soccer balls makes things much harder.

Soon, thanks to his deplorable skills, the kids have loosened up enough to laugh at and with him, which removes some of the solemn, worried atmosphere the practice had held before. They take turns stealing the ball from him as he pretends to be angry about it. Judy flashes him a smile from across the field.

They end the practice in good humor, all of the kids now seeming equally as enamored with "Mr. Nick" as they are with "Ms. Judy." One of the coaches, a spotted paca, even tells him the kids seemed more lighthearted than he had seen them in a long time.

"Don't consider a career in soccer just yet, though," Judy teases him on their way out.

 _A career in soccer?_ Nick thinks, rubbing his sore legs. _Not on your life. If I only ran for half the practice, how does she do this twice a week and still get up for work in the morning?_

.


	3. Evidence, Item 3: The Garden

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 **Evidence, Item #3: The Garden**

 **.**

Back when Nick was working cons, getting a phone call early in the morning used to signify certain doom. No one called you in the morning unless something had gone terribly wrong, and usually wrong enough to warrant moving or at least hanging low for a very, very long time.

And the fear of early morning phone calls (and thus certain doom) is so ingrained in Nick that he vaults out of bed at the first ring, his blankets twisted in his tail and right leg, and stumbles into the kitchen.

"Hullo?" He says at once.

"Wilde. It's Chief Bogo," a voice says. In the background, Nick can hear a swarm of voices and a shrill noise that might be the whine of a distant siren. "Listen, I hate to do this. I know you and Judy are off today, but I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."

"What's going on, boss?" Nick asks, sagging as the adrenaline wears off. He stoops over to unwind the blanket from around his tail.

"Some homeless buck started a fire in the abandoned hotel on Main and Clowder Avenue," he explains. "It's got pretty big, nothing the fire department can't control, but seeing as it's in such a populated area, they needed most of our unit to come down for crowd control. And then Clawhauser just got us word that there's been a major car accident down on Bloat across the border to the Rainforest District—five or six cars, it sounded like. No one hurt too badly from what I know, and emergency services are already there, but we need officers out there as soon as possible to sort things out, get an official report written up."

"So me and Judy," Nick clarifies, his sleep-dazed mind still struggling to keep up.

"So you and Judy," Bogo confirms, and then he hesitates. "I know it's early, Wilde, but I need someone I know will do it right. Major accident like this could be a lot of trouble for the wrong ones." 

"No, no, we've got this," Nick says, looking up at his clock. _Six fifteen. Son of a monkey._ "I'll swing by and grab Judy. We'll be there in no time."

"Good lad," Bogo replies, and the sounds of sirens are louder now. "Give me a report when you've finished."

"Will do, chief," Nick says, hanging up and shaking his head to wake himself up. His ears flop violently against his skull.

After a moment spent looking longingly at his bed, with the orange light of the early morning sun just beginning to fall across the rest of his blankets, Nick grabs an apple for breakfast and changes into uniform.

His body protests against the movement at such an early hour, but Nick can't lessen the feeling of excitement swelling in his chest, of anticipation. Being on the force has a lot of perks—working in the heart of the city, having a steady paycheck that isn't dependent on his ability to swindle a few dollars out of someone that day—but the job itself is the biggest. With any given call, it's always hard to know what you're getting yourself into. You might report to a call and find some unexpected twist, something you can only handle with the help of your own wits and your partner at your side.

Nick loves it.

It'll be quicker to take public transportation than to swing by the main office for a set of wheels. The bus is the fastest way to get from his house to Judy's, and even with frequent stops, the trip takes him only five minutes. On their detective salaries, he and Judy have both very recently moved, Judy to get out of her shoebox apartment and into something more appropriately sized in what Nick is now calling Medium Rodentia (it doesn't matter that Judy isn't, technically speaking, a rodent), and Nick to leave his run-down place at the edge of the city limits for something closer to the police station.

Nick had been to her place a few times early last month, having helped her move ("under duress," as he explains it). He remembers it to be a pretty nice apartment, reminiscent of the cozy homes he imagines are popular in Bunnyburrow. There are low ceilings that slope very subtly in the corners to give the impression of being in an underground tunnel, wide windows to let in the sunlight, and a little balcony that came fitted with built-in plant beds for gardening.

It's in the sort of area where a helpful neighbor is just a shout away, where mammals offer to buy groceries for each other and leave their doors unlocked at night. But Judy's a police bunny and too clever for the last. When Nick raps on her door, it takes a few moments for him to see movement through the peephole and the click of two locks.

Judy wears a loose shirt and shorts, the kinds of things they wear for police training, and lets him in without really looking at him. "Bogo called to say you were on the way. Come in, sit down, five minutes," she chirps, bounding off into the bathroom.

"Take your time," he calls back. "Just an urgent call to a four-car pileup." She grumbles something at him, but it's made unintelligible by the closed bathroom door.

After having rushed over so quickly, it's jarring to suddenly find himself with a few unexpectedly quiet moments to recuperate. He looks around the apartment, which is bright with the morning light. A breeze flutters in from a window somewhere, probably in her bedroom, as does the murmur of distant conversation.

 _It's a little sparse,_ he thinks to himself, taking in the bare walls and minimal furnishings. If he hadn't known any better, he might have thought the apartment was unoccupied and still being staged for rental. In the corner of the room are a few boxes that have been pushed aside and out of the way. Unlike most mammals, Nick has no qualms about snooping, and he spares a glance at the closed bathroom door before opening the nearest box to peer down at its contents: picture frames showing an older rabbit couple and rolling fields and glades, a vase in the shape of a carrot, a few candles that smell like flowers. _That's why it's so bare. Guess she hasn't unpacked._

The realization makes him uneasy: it's been weeks since she moved. Three—or maybe four. Nick's own apartment had looked as inhabited as it was possible to be within a day of his moving in.

A faint crackle of noise catches his attention. He realizes suddenly that it's not the sound of conversation but the crackle of radio static. Nick's ears perk up, and he leaves the box behind to peek into her bedroom.

The window is open as he'd thought, but it can't be the source of the noise. After a moment, another burst of static surges, and Nick realizes that the sound is coming from the thick radio on the bedside table. A police scanner.

"Copy. Priority one medical, waiting for response…"

"...correct. Code E38, over…"

"Ten-four. Confirm E38."

Frowning, Nick clicks through the dial.

"...and that address was three-eighty-one Strove. Again, three eight one Strove Avenue, over."

"Copy. We're on the second floor to the east, double doors. Suspects are two female hyenas with…"

"Whatcha up to?" Judy asks from behind him.

Nick jumps, feeling suddenly like he's been caught stealing in spite of the fact that he's done nothing wrong. Her bedroom door was open, after all. She doesn't seem irritated with the invasion of privacy—if this even counts. On the contrary, she looks amused as she straightens her shirt. "Just checking out your scanner," he says finally, patting the top of the device. "You listening to check in on the fire?"

"No. Well, yes. I'm always listening. I usually just fall asleep to it. It's good to know what's going on." She moves away, jerking her head toward the open living area from whence he'd come.

"Except on your off days," Nick says hopefully, following her.

"No, usually off days too."

"Judy. There's this thing you may have heard of called 'music'—"

She rolls her eyes, laughing. "Are you coming or not?"

"Coming," he grumbles. He feels somehow sick to his stomach. _Not that any of this is a bad sign,_ Nick reassures himself. _Just...unusual._

But _a bad sign_ is exactly what he catches a glimpse of on his way toward the door. Bad enough that he pauses in the middle of the room, almost unable to process what he's looking at until Judy calls to him from out in the hallway.

"Nick. We have a call to check out! If you don't hurry up, I'm gonna lock you in there and go without you."

"What? Yeah, coming."

He follows her into the hall, where she pauses to lock the door. As if that's the starting signal, they both take off for the tram, footsteps ringing in the quiet. It's only as they hop into the tram just in time for it to take off that Nick has a chance to consider it all.

Dead plants on the balcony. Dead _vegetables._ He hadn't even known that was _possible_ for a rabbit: aren't they practically little garden angels? Don't they have some sort of innate natural gift that makes everything they touch swell with fruit or nectar or flowers? Nick had never heard of a rabbit who, even with indifference, had not managed to keep a plant in bloom.

And Judy's plants are _dead,_ ugly and brown and wilted like shriveled insects. It's hard to overstate how dead they are.

He shoots Judy a sidelong look. She sits in the seat next to him, slumping back a little as she stares out the window. She'd seemed the same as always earlier, but now, in a moment of quiet and calm, she looks like she might fall asleep.

How distracted must Judy have been to let her plants die like that?

 _That's the last straw,_ Nick thinks uneasily. _Something has to be done._

.


	4. Evidence, Item 4: The Stakeout

.

 **Evidence, Item #4: The Stakeout**

 **.**

The phrase "lone wolf" has always seemed odd to Nick. He knows about the whole thing where every now and then, some disgruntled wolf separates from the pack to lead a more solitary life, but those events are rare. As a whole, their entire species enjoys a large community of friends and family, and even into adulthood and old age they can be seen spending time with a pack with whom they are linked by either blood or strong bonds borne of time and affection.

It's foxes who are solitary, more so than most other mammals Nick knows. Growing up, this understanding had just been a part of Nick's world, the fact that foxes are loners who are pushed out the door into the world as soon as they crest over the peak of childhood. Marriage is rare, and it's rare for even parents to stay together for the sake of their kits (or, as is more likely, kit: few foxes grow up with siblings nowadays). Nick's father had left before he was walking, which is about par for the course in fox culture.

The prospect of a whole future of loneliness, in his teenage and young adult years especially, had inspired a _me against everyone_ sort of mentality at one time before it faded into weary acceptance of his fate. He'd never have anything like the highly bonded lifestyle of elephants and lions and chimps or the large, extended families of rabbits and meerkats. (Although to be fair, the modern family size is supposedly dwindling now with the development of larger cities and rising costs of living and housing and education. Not that it made him feel better way back when.)

But it never stopped him from _wondering_ what it would be like to have strong relationships. Not for long, of course, and never very seriously. There's no sense in wanting what you'll never have.

At least, he thought it was something he would never have until Judy reached out to him to ask him to partner with her. Their friendship is strange, to be sure (predator and prey, a sly fox with a cheerful bunny, by-the-books and off-the-books—he's pretty much heard it all when it comes to people telling him why their partnership is weird), but for some reason it _works._ They mesh together, or get each other, or _something._

It's not like Nick has much experience with this kind of thing. The only other partnerships Nick had developed out of necessity. And the relationships weren't exactly the type where you'd feel comfortable texting the other person to complain about the lack of coffee in the break room, or where you'd offer to run an errand when they're in a time crunch, or where you'd both chip in for an entire pizza and a tub of ice cream after a bad day. Or where they'd make tea for you in the morning when you came in to work with a cold, or laugh at your stupid jokes during boring downtime, or rescue you from awkward conversations with the other officers.

But in spite of all of it, their friendship is very new. And as much as the two of them boss each other around and joke about everything, talking to Judy about overworking much seems _serious_. Too much like he's overstepping his bounds.

Nick spends the next day deliberating, every now and then shooting Judy careful, studying looks he's sure she doesn't understand. He considers how to approach her, rehearses and discards entire conversations in his head, and then decides to let the matter lie until he's sorted it out in his head.

This isn't the best idea, but he doesn't find out why until a few days later.

.

The whole mushroom thing explodes in the way something can only when you think it's all under control. One minute, they're doing paperwork and Nick's jokingly asking Judy whether it's too punny to call the network of dealers _a mushroom ring_ or to say that new evidence has _sprouted up overnight,_ and the next thing you know, the things are showing up everywhere—two reindeer ("Reindealers?" Nick tries) picked up on the street, and then a few baskets of mushrooms confiscated from The Hart House the next night, and then the phone calls don't end.

The assignment belongs rightfully to Nick and Judy, but with the vast number of related cases cropping up across Zootopia, they find themselves getting a lot of help from the rest of the squad.

The stakeout, though, is all their idea—both of them working out the kinks, scheduling a time at the expected height of the activity at The Hart House, and then putting it into action over the course of a few days. The only catch is that it's their very first stakeout, and though they'd in theory been prepared for the long hours of boredom, it turns out to be a much more tedious thing in practice than expected.

"You know, it'd have been nice if they had the good sense not to do this kind of thing on a weekend," Nick grumbles, though the last syllable turns into a yawn. He glances at the clock radio, whose fiery red numbers are the only source of light in the car's interior. " _Three o' clock._ Are they still even in there? It's been hours."

As expected, Judy ignores him, probably because he's been complaining on and off for most of the adventure. And despite their boredom, neither of them have taken their eyes from the building for more than a minute the entire while.

The Hart House had once been a tiny boarding school, having earned its name from the types of animals living in this area of Savanna Central—mostly white-tailed and red deer with sides of reindeer, moose, and elk. With the faint glow of distant streetlights, Nick can see that some of the columns in front of the schoolhouse still bear the telltale deer rub from decades of young boys sharpening their antlers.

It had sat vacant for a time after closing a few years ago, at least until a new owner had scooped it up to turn it into a warehouse. "A warehouse," Nick says under his breath with a snort. "They could have at least thought of a believable lie." The place may have sat empty for a while, but it still has the bones of an old schoolhouse—not the kind of place with the wide doors and high ceilings you need for regularly storing and transporting goods.

At least not most kinds of goods. Nick has no doubts they're storing and transporting _something,_ but he and Judy figure the house was chosen more for its location than anything else. Proximity to the Rainforest District means high humidity and soil moisture without having to leave Savanna Central, where the demand from fellow deer is high, and the darkness of an abandoned structure is the perfect climate for growing _amanita muscaria._

Nick stretches in place, raising his arms overhead and arching his back and tail a little. "They could at least have decided to do this at a time that wasn't three in the morning," he gripes again once he comes out of his yawn.

He expects a retort—this much complaining is nearly above Judy's tolerance level—but then he realizes what must have caught her attention. A strange hush settles over the car, over the world, as Nick's eyes fall on the two shadows slipping from the front door of the House. Their bulk of their figures cut intimidating silhouettes, with their beefy shoulders and torsos built like tree trunks. Antlers crown their heads, large and sharp and tall, marking them as cervidae. Nick thinks their hulking sizes must make them reindeer or elk or even sambar.

Heads swiveling to glance around at their surroundings, their gazes flash across Nick and Judy's police car, which is hidden in the shadows of a dilapidated apartment building two lots away. Nick knows they're too far away to see whether anyone is in the car, and he fights the impulse to crouch below the dashboard.

Seemingly satisfied, they lope toward a truck parked at the edge of the property. "This is it," Nick hisses, an anxious buzz making his fur stand on end at the thought of finally seeing some action. "You ready?"

As he buckles his seatbelt, he realizes Judy hasn't made a move. "Cottontail?" Turning to face her, he finds her curled into a ball, her legs hugged to her chest and her face pressed into her knees. Taken aback by the frightened body language, he glances quickly back at the edge of The Hart House, where the pair in question are just ducking into the truck, and then back at his partner. "Hey. Carrot."

He touches her shoulder lightly, and her head comes up in an instant. "What? Yeah."

"You…" Nick stares at her. "Were you _sleeping_?"

The guilty silence tells him all he needs to know. Finally, just as Nick's ear cocks to take in the start of the distant engine, she shakes herself roughly and puts her hands on the wheel. "Sorry. Okay. What are we…?"

"Uh-uh," Nick says at once, unbuckling and shaking his head. "I haven't thought that much about my death, but I'd like for it to happen in a way that's cooler than death-by-drowsy-rabbit-at-the-wheel. Switch places."

Something in the urgency of his voice, or maybe her own feelings of guilt, make Judy snap her mouth closed and unbuckle her seatbelt to begin moving immediately. The switch is awkward, all limbs and knees, and in a moment of distraction, Nick glances up briefly to see the deers' truck finally move out of place, and that's when he and Judy knock into each other hard enough for Judy's leg to fall onto the horn.

A loud _BEEEEEEEEP_ shatters the silence of the night, and if the deer weren't aware that someone else was behind them, they are now. "Son of a _monkey,_ " Nick swears, and Judy hurriedly wiggles into the passenger seat.

"Go!" she cries, fastening her seat belt. Nick doesn't need to be told twice. Slamming on the gas, he steers the car down the darkened street and toward the deer, who disappear around the corner with a screech of tires. He doesn't dare take his eyes from the road, so it's good that Judy, now fully awake, has the presence of mind to turn on the siren and grab their radio to request backup.

In this area of the city, where some of the older buildings have been out of use for longer than Nick's been alive, streetlights are few and far in between. The utter darkness of the abandoned streets is lit only by the glow of Nick's LED headlights, which seem to spread across obstacles like parked cars and traffic cones only just in time for him to keep from running into them.

Judy leans forward in her seat to catch the passing street signs in the dark, speaking every now and then into the radio with the short, pointed directions they've been trained to use. After a pause, she squints straight ahead into the night. "Nick, you don't think…?"

"I see it too," Nick replies, unwilling to take his eyes from the road. "They're weaving all over."

Judy doesn't swear, but Nick can almost hear her grinding her teeth. "Great," she growls, and then, into the radio: "Suspects are potentially intoxicated, with erratic steering. Over." On the other end, the dispatcher doesn't quite click his radio off before he swears for them.

One of the things that had been firmly pounded into them at the Academy is that, contrary to what pop culture would have you believe, car chases are never advisable and should be avoided whenever possible. High-speed chases in hazardous conditions are one of the most dangerous things officers can get themselves into—not just for the safety of the officers and the suspects, but for the safety of innocent bystanders and the protection of public property. And in the dark of night with a pair of high suspects ahead of them, this one is looking worse than most.

Ahead of them, the truck swerves recklessly, steering down a side street with another screech of tires. Nick jerks their car aside to follow, torn between relief and worry as the truck heads into a better lit but more populated area near Jennet Avenue, one of the city's main thoroughfares. This time of night, they're not likely to find too many pedestrians around the three-lane road, but Nick can already see that there are more motorists, and the speeding truck has to make quick jerks to avoid them.

A horn honks from somewhere behind them as Nick speeds to catch up to the truck ahead, but he discards the sound in his total concentration. It's only when Judy says something at his side that he lets himself focus on something besides the truck, which wobbles a little and hugs the center line. "What was that?"

"Backup coming from the north," she informs him, probably knowing he wasn't paying attention to the crackle of the radio dispatcher. "We might be able to catch them by surprise if we can steer them toward Maple or—" she breaks off into a cry as the speeding truck ahead of them drifts out of the lane and crunches the side of a parked car, not enough to stop the truck's motion, but enough to make it over-correct the steering and veer wildly away.

At the sound of their siren, the few cars ahead of them on the road are pulling over or taking to side streets to give them a wide berth, but it doesn't seem to be enough. The deer's truck again drifts out of its lane, nearing the sidewalk and the rows of small shops that line it.

"They're going to—" Judy begins.

"Nuh-uh," is all Nick can manage, giving their car enough gas that it shoots forward. With a rough _thud,_ he steers the left side of their car onto the sidewalk before the truck can drift too far, nudging its rear fender to the side with the front of their car.

The truck jerks away, back to the center of the road. "If we can get ahead of it…" Nick begins, but he trails off, unsure if the intoxicated deer would be aware enough to stop for a car that swerved in front of them. Either way, there's no chance to find out. As if made more wary by their sudden closeness, the truck again flies down a side road, veering away at high speed.

Nick slams on the brakes, tires squealing, to follow them. A sudden burst of radio makes him jump. "...type of weapons they have, if any?"

Judy holds the mic to her mouth. "No weapons we're aware of, over," she replies, looking to Nick for confirmation.

"Do they have weapons? They have built-in weapons on their _heads._ Did you see how sharp those antlers are?" Nick grumbles, but he knows it's not what the dispatchers are looking for. Judy snorts without relaying the information, and someone on the other end bleats out a confirmation.

Ahead of them, the street narrows to two lanes. With the quick, evasive turn, the truck is now farther away than before, maybe twenty yards or so. It swerves inexplicably around imagined obstacles, veering to the right one minute and then darting away the next. Nick swears as it clips one of its side mirrors off on a streetlight.

Judy's still rattling off street signs and directions into the radio, and after a moment, the dispatcher confirms that backup is close. Nick nods to show he's heard, but he doesn't dare loosen his concentration to do more than that.

All at once, a blur of black and white darts from down a side street and in front of the truck; for a heartbeat, Nick's terrified that it's a civilian vehicle, but once it stops short in the road, he recognizes it as a marked ZPD car. Tires squealing against the asphalt, the truck tries to dart through the narrow gap in the road between the front of the car and the sidewalk, but there's not enough room. Horribly misjudging their distance and speed, the deer crash headfirst into a telephone pole, which they ram so hard that it indents a V into the hood of the vehicle.

Nick brings the car up short, both he and Judy jerking in place as he slams the brakes. Ahead of them, grey smoke filters from the engine of the truck, obscuring the bottom of the pole as well as the windows of the truck.

This is the tricky part, the part where things can go terribly wrong depending on how much of a fight the deer are willing to put up. Knowing the pair of other officers will be doing the same from their side of the truck, Nick and Judy slide out of the car and onto the road. Smoke rolls across the ground and into their faces, puffed about by the wind, and they approach the vehicle with great caution, both of their hands on their batons. Judy, who is nearest the door handle, gestures to it, and Nick nods. Determinedly, she hops up onto the step below the door and jumps to catch the handle in her paws, tugging it down before pulling the door open.

Something dark rushes at Nick through the smoke. He dodges it quickly; Judy has already darted back to his side with a cry. It's only once the two of them have a chance to pull back that they realize they're out of danger.

"You...ruined it!" the elk cries, futilely swinging its hooves in their direction. Neither of the cervidae—the other's a reindeer, as Nick suspected—appear to have been wearing their seat belts, but their antlers, which had shot into the glass of the windshield and caught fast there, may have actually saved their lives. "Whyyy…"

Nick and Judy heave a sigh of relief. "Watch him a sec?" Nick asks her.

Stepping around the open door to hop onto the top of the tire, Nick can just see the other officers through the smoke. Higgins leans against the front door frame, his leathery bulk intimidating the reindeer inside into silence. Snarlof stands smugly behind, arms crossed. At the sight of Nick, the wolf gives him a toothy grin and a thumbs up. "Good catch," he calls. "You two okay?"

"We're fine," Nick replies, relieved no one was actually hurt on this stupid little joyride. "And good timing."

Snarlof flicks his dark ears nonchalantly. "Split the arrest reports? I'll cuff the one on your end."

Which is probably for the best, as the elk's hoof is practically the size of Nick's head. He nods and jumps back down to Judy's side.

The bunny is staring at their suspect as though puzzling him out, hand on her baton. By now, the elk has stopped swinging wildly in her direction in order to sob into the steering wheel. "Oh," Nick says. "That's...kind of sad."

Judy doesn't reply. He knows that she must be thinking the same as he is: this isn't how they'd wanted things to go.

The actual car chase had gone about as well as it possibly could have, of course, given that no one was hurt and no property was seriously damaged. They'll probably even get high praise for it, along with Higgins and Snorlof, back at the office tomorrow. But their original plan had been much different, a slower and more subtle look at the line of mushroom dealers—where these two had been going, and who had arranged it all. Not that they won't get answers from the suspects and from whatever's in The Hart House, now that they have a reason to suspect illegal operations and get a warrant to look inside. But a subtler undercover investigation might have unearthed more in the long run. There's no way to tell, of course, but the fact that their expectations had shattered in the space of half an hour probably has something to do with his partner's melancholy mood.

Still, Nick is determined not to let it get them down. Glancing at Judy, he presses his elbow lightly into her shoulder. "Hey. It wasn't the plan, but...we did good. Why the look?"

Judy shakes her head with a frown. "No reason. Just keeping an eye on him." Still, her expression is odd, almost unfathomable.

"Right," Nick says slowly. "Look," he begins, and then he isn't sure what else he means to say. He sighs. "I'll get the paperwork out of the car," he says finally.

He walks back, taking a minute to rifle through the folder of paperwork they always keep on hand, fumbling through Judy's organizational system. _I should probably say something about what happened earlier,_ he thinks. _Wonder if that's what she's beating herself up about._

But when he returns to her side, the look is purposefully gone. She smiles at him. "Ready to get this over with?"

As if on cue, the elk—now in handcuffs, though Nick suspects it'll be some time before they get the fire department and the jaws of life to clip his antlers safely from the windshield—belts out, "I'm not saying _anything._ You don't even know what I ate."

"We did the whole 'right to remain silent' thing?" Nick asks.

"I did. And Snorlof added his whole 'we'd _really_ like it if you'd remain silent' thing."

"Because, y'know, it was good stuff. Like, _so good,_ " the elk continues in a hushed voice.

Nick grins, handing Judy her share of the reports to fill out. They work slowly to the elk's relentless and nonsensical diatribe about the quality of _what I ate, which I can't talk about_.

It should have put them both in high spirits. Instead, Nick spends half the time sneaking surreptitious glances at Judy's expression, which settles back into the same troubled one from earlier, an uncharacteristically cool and quiet frown.

.

 **A/N:** Sorry for the delay with this chapter! I've had family visiting and haven't had a moment's peace in ages, at least until I was able to sneak off and write this. I also haven't been able to respond to reviewers as I usually do, but just know that I really appreciate everyone who reviewed, followed, or favorited :-)


	5. Case Conclusion

.

 **Case Conclusion**

 **.**

The stereotype is that rabbits are good with numbers.

Most of them will tell you that their explosive reproductive habits have something to do with it, that mathematics (and multiplication, specifically) has been a critical skill for rabbits over the ages. And legend holds this to be true, as rabbits are often cited as the masterminds behind some of the ancient world's greatest mathematical feats, from the large-scale desert geoglyphs of the west to the precision of the gargantuan animal sculptures to the south.

Nick knows the stereotype to be just that: a stereotype. He's met his fair share of dumb bunny civilians, especially now that he's working on the force, who couldn't put a string of numbers together to give you their proper age.

Judy's not one of them. Faster than Nick can react, she'll have calculated the angles of a room in order to bound off the wall, the chair, the table with perfect trajectory to pin an escaping suspect. When Nick's forgotten the contents of their activity logs, Judy can rattle off a list of events down to the minute. With a glance, Judy knows the distance, speeds, and angles of a car crash or the correct fine for a speeding ticket given how many miles per hour above the limit the vehicle was moving.

So as the pair of them return from sifting through the contents of The Hart House the next afternoon to head back to central station, Nick spends a while running through numbers in his head. Even though numbers aren't really his thing. He's more of a _fly by the seat of your pants, sweet talk it out of the suspect_ kind of mammal. But he'll give it a shot.

This early in the afternoon, the bullpen is practically brimming with mammals, mostly the normal slew of ZPD officers with a few civilians peppered in. Their mailmammal, a wiry old cheetah, delivers bundles of letters and packages; some psych or behavioral consultant is going over the finer parts of a case with a few officers in the back of the room; and a couple of pangolin from the DA's office, both with thick scales that make Nick think they must be very old, talk to Bogo at his podium. It's enough movement to have distracted Nick severely when he'd first started out on the job, but nowadays, he gets his best work done in a busy bullpen.

 _And I'll need to get a lot more work done here from now on,_ he thinks. _My_ actual _half of the work._

He and Judy sit at their usual spot in the corner of the room, their desks lit with the warm afternoon sunlight spilling from the window. They haven't spoken much since they sat down half an hour ago, both of them bent over their respective share of the reports, though Judy has, as is usual nowadays, a bit more than half. Presently, Judy is slumped over in place a little, distracted in a way Nick has only rarely known her to be in the whole time they've been working together. For long stretches of time, she simply gazes out of the window and into the street below, chin resting on one fisted paw, until she remembers herself and shakes the mood away.

Her gloominess has been fairly transient all day: Nick only has to ask her a question or glance in her direction and she returns to the Judy he's most familiar with, energetic and determined and sure of herself. _It's only when she thinks I'm not looking,_ he realizes slowly, clearing his throat with regret.

At once, Judy looks up at him, face breaking into a very small smile that might have been more exuberant a few days ago. "Hey," she says, raising her eyebrows.

"Hey. I was thinking," he begins, and then pauses, ears twitching as he abruptly remembers to gauge the loudness of the room. It's boisterous, as usual, and with Higgins's booming laughter somewhere over his shoulder, he decides that anyone else would be hard-pressed to overhear their quiet conversation unless they were making a dedicated effort. "I was thinking maybe it would be good for me to do my share of the paperwork. For real. An equal half," he says, fumbling lamely what he has rehearsed in his head.

Judy nods slowly, wearily, but there's nothing on her face to suggest that his statement is anything but expected. "I thought so," she says simply, and she rifles through her stack of paperwork to pull out a few reports that Nick has perpetually foisted off onto her. As she holds them out to him, she opens her mouth as if to say something, and then she shakes her head.

Nick takes the files, trying not to think about the extra half-hour to an hour of work that his charitable deed is going to be adding to every day for the foreseeable future, especially as he tries to figure out how to fill out the blasted things again. "Thanks," he tells her.

"I'm sorry," she says suddenly, her voice very low. "About the…" she makes an abstract gesture. "You know. The whole thing in the car yesterday. Bogo commended us on it this morning, but really we were supposed to know a lot more than we do right now. And yeah, the mushrooms we found in The Hart House are all confiscated, and that's great, but we still don't know where they're being grown or where they're going, and...we could've been farther along on the case otherwise. So. Sorry." She is very carefully looking down at her stack of paperwork to avoid his gaze.

"You know it's not like I'm mad, right?" he says after a second. "The whole thing is just that you're exhausted. You're taking on way too much work. And—well, did you know that sleeping regularly makes everything 20 percent better? Or that taking regular breaks can make your brain move 100 percent faster than before?"

She blinks at him, nose twitching and violet eyes narrowing in confusion. "You just made those up," she says finally, though it comes out like a question.

"Yeah, it was...short notice. You like numbers, so I was just...never mind," he replies. It's not exactly a failure, because the corners of her mouth are twitching upward. " _Any_ way, you get the idea," he adds hopefully. "Right?"

"I get it," she says, sighing as she thumbs absently through the paperwork at her side. Finally, she looks back up at Nick. "I know it's a problem. It's just...it's just always been the way I am. I go full-speed for things I really care about, or things I'm worried about. I'm not good at slowing down when it's something important to me, and this is _really_ important to me.

"And besides, it's my _job._ My half of the job, you know? You do the whole...smooth talking and connections and...I don't know, random intel. I do things by the books. That's one of the reasons we work together so well."

"Yeah, but…you don't have anything to prove. You know that, right? I mean, sure, we're still the little guys here, and we can't do things the same way as the other officers. Sometimes, for us, it's harder or slower because we're figuring out how to get it done. But we've already done a _lot,_ you and me. And besides all that, we're partners _._ You're supposed to tell me this kind of stuff! How am I supposed to know this if you don't say anything?"

At this, Judy looks amused and slightly abashed. "Yeah, I know," she says again.

"Part of being partners is that I'm here to tell you when you need to slow down. And I'm telling you now, because I'm...I'm just worried you're going to exhaust yourself. Burn out, just by taking things way too much at once and too fast.

"So you gotta trust me. If we're partners, then I'm your balance; you're the fast one, and I'm…" he hesitates, and she laughs. "Talking myself into a corner. But you get it," he adds, laughing a little too. "And so—well, you were talking about things that are important to you, and to me, it's important that we're working together. Which won't be the case if you work yourself into a coma at the hospital or something."

Judy opens her mouth, probably to protest at the exaggeration, but he continues before she can speak. " _And_ if working on the force, being partners, if that's important to _you,_ then I don't want you to burn out because you're going too fast. Let's do this right. Okay?"

After a moment, she nods her head slowly, ears perked to give him her full attention. Under such complete focus, Nick pauses, realizing she's only letting him go over all of this because she knows he's right. Otherwise, she'd have been way more stubborn.

Then he shakes himself out of it. "Okay, then. Rules. New rules." He folds his arms, leaning forward in his chair as he thinks. Uncharacteristically, he's gone over this speech and these suggestions in his head multiple times today. "Okay. One: no police work on off days or after we've clocked out. That means no listening to police scanners all night, and no worrying about it when we're not on the clock."

"But we get some of our best ideas when we're bouncing stuff around after work, just us or with the others," she protests.

Nick considers this. It's true that they tend to come to breakthroughs when they've had a chance to loosen up after work, sometimes over plum sours or sweetroot tea at the nearest restaurant or pub. "Alright," he allows. " _Right_ after work, if we're going to get dinner, that's okay. Otherwise, no. Two," he adds, before she can protest again. "Ten hours of sleep every day—"

"What?" she cries. "Are you crazy? No one gets ten hours of sleep—"

" _Every_ one gets ten hours of sleep—"

"Do you really get ten hours every night?"

"More like nine and a half. But ten is definitely recommended."

"For foxes, maybe," Judy snorts. "Growing up, I heard eight and a half."

Nick stares dubiously, but she gives him such a serious look that he has to grin. "Alright. Eight and a half hours for night, pending research about the ideal amount of time for a rabbit. _Three._ Not that you shouldn't be volunteering, because it's good or whatever, but sometimes, you _have_ to do things on your time off that aren't...you know. Completely exhausting."

"Soccer isn't completely exhausting," Judy scoffs.

"Running after a ball literally almost nonstop for three hours in the afternoon isn't exhausting?" Nick clarifies.

"Okay, it's a _little_ tiring. But—"

"I'm not saying to drop it. I'm just saying you can't do stuff like that every day, and whatever else you do with your free time can't be that high intensity. You're going to work yourself into an early stroke. Or collapse or pass out on the job, more likely," he adds, knowing that the thought of falling asleep in the car last night will be enough for her to accept this condition. It's probably a low blow, since he knows it'll upset her a little, but at this point, he's not pulling his punches over something that could improve her health. After a moment, she nods slowly.

"No debate?" he asks slyly. She glowers. "Alright, then. Last is—well, I'm going to help more with the boring stuff. Like paperwork." He pats the stack of papers beside him sheepishly. "Which, really, I should've been doing all along."

"It's fine," she says, smiling with a shrug. "That's just how we split the work. I do the paperwork, and you have more time to gather the gossip for us. Hearing the latest rumors and knowing what's going on with the other cases have helped us out a couple times, if you remember."

"I do. But I'm thinking it would make more sense if we both go. It'll give you a break, and you have better hearing than I do— _slightly_ —"

"What does that have to do with anything?" she laughs. "Now you're just pulling stuff out of nowhere to prop up your argument. We're talking to people who are like _three feet away_."

"—and you might catch something I don't. Who knows?" he finishes, ignoring her. "So. Four rules. Easy to follow. Are we agreed?"

Judy smiles, nodding. "Agreed."

"Good," Nick replies brightly, clapping his paws together. "Now. What do you say that you re-teach me how the heck to fill out a tow truck log form, and then we head down to The Warren Cafe for conversation that, even though rule number one allows, has _nothing to do_ with any of our work?"

"Catawampus Grill," Judy amends. "I'm in the mood for something different. And I hear the catfish is a local favorite."

Catfish is _Nick's_ favorite, too—which Judy knows for a fact. And he's been around long enough to know a truce when he hears one.

He grins. "Alright," he replies. "You had me at 'something different.'"

.

The thing about Zootopia being the one of animal world's most diverse cities is that you can find other mammals interested in just about whatever you're into. Want to decorate your home in bark and tree stumps instead of wallpaper? Struggling with your habit of burying your food during the winter? Looking for a rig that helps you sleep standing up on your hooves? There's a store or a support group somewhere that caters to anything.

So while Nick, even as an omnivore, isn't really into random plant-based celebrations, the flyer for _Battle of the Berries_ this Saturday instantly makes him think of Judy.

He knocks on her door unannounced at nine, knowing she'll have likely been awake for hours. Judy unlocks and opens it almost at once, as though she's been expecting him—though the surprise on her face makes it obvious she isn't.

Wordlessly, he hands out the flyer for _Battle of the Berries,_ letting her read for a few seconds about the festival, which advertises _free berry samples_ and _berry plants for sale_ and _berry dessert competitions_ and _berry-throwing contest_. As she does, his eyes flick about her apartment to reassure himself that she's been sticking to the new rules: no police scanners rolling, as far as he can tell. The boxes in the corner are gone, and it looks like some of her knick-knacks have finally made it to her shelves. She must have started tending her container garden as well, he thinks, because it looks marginally better. All of the dried-out and desiccated plants are gone, anyway.

He lets her catch him looking, raising an eyebrow pointedly. "Huh," she says at last, tilting her head in something like suspicion. "So what is this?"

"A berry festival," he replies, though he knows she isn't talking about the festival. "You know. Fruit and food and wholesome good times and fun stuff like that. I thought, since you're not allowed to do any work, you might be having a hard time filling up your weekend," he adds finally. "And plant stuff is your thing. And your garden still looks terrible."

Ignoring the insult, Judy stares at him for a long time, blinking, as though she can't really figure him out. "Today?" she asks.

"Today. If you want."

At last, she smiles. "Sounds good to me. Give me a sec," she says, standing back to let him in.

He sits on her sofa as she bustles into her bedroom. On the coffee table is an empty mug and a few books—which aren't about police work or anything related to their case. All good signs. Nick rests his elbows on his knees.

"Hey Nick?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. For…" she appears in the doorway again, a light jacket over her shirt and a small purse slung over one shoulder. "Looking out for this, I guess. I...this doesn't really seem like your kind of deal. Berry festivals."

Nick shrugs. "What's your deal is my deal," he replies easily, rolling to his feet. "Ready?"

They step out into the hall, and Nick gives her a second to lock the door. When she turns back, her expression is a combination of slyness and suspicion. "You're just in it for the blueberry muffins, aren't you?"

He grins. "I wouldn't say they're my first priority. But blueberries would definitely be a bonus."

.

Nick had pictured a couple of tables in an empty lot field somewhere, but the berry festival turns out to be huge: it covers the grounds of the public sports fields, with lanes and lanes of little stalls selling art or promoting games or letting the smell of warm pastries fill the air. There are bizarre activities like painting with berries, and the berry-throwing contest turns out to be a berry war, which, once Nick and Judy are roped into it, completely ruins Nick's good shirt and fills Judy's purse with raspberry pulp.

By the end of it, they are both grinning wildly—unexpectedly so for Nick, who had thought only to tolerate the whole thing for Judy's benefit—and bearing a bag of pastries between them, as well as a bundle of tiny berry plants for Judy's garden.

And if they miss a memo at the office every now and then, if they aren't quite as up-to-date on the latest news in the world of police scanners, maybe that's alright.

If nothing else, Nick smells a lot of blueberry muffins in his future.

.

.

.

 **A/N:** Aw, Nick and Judy always give me a small dose of warm fuzzies :) It was really fun to imagine a little more of their world…at least until Disney gives us a Zootopia 2 (because really, that has to happen, right?)

Random Story Notes:

The police force: I only saw the movie once, and I don't remember the species of any of the police mammals, so I made them all up using the list of names floating around online. Eventually I'll go back and make corrections, but for the time being they're just gonna be mixed up.

Weight classes: It seemed to me that there would have to be a way of differentiating sizes, even just for the ZPD's own ease (I mean, "small mammal" and "large mammal" only get you so far on the sliding scale from mouse to elephant), so I adapted official wrestling classes for this fic. If you're interested, here's the reference chart I made myself because I am the most OCD human being on the planet:

\- Featherweight: 0.1 oz - 2 lbs. (hedgehog, mouse, rat, shrew, squirrel, chinchilla)

\- Lightweight: 2 - 40 lbs.  
— Lower Lightweight: 2 - 10 lbs. (rabbit, raccoon, possum, weasel, otter, ferret)  
— Upper Lightweight: 10 - 40 lbs. (fox, beaver, koala, honey badger, jackal)

\- Welterweight: 40 - 200 lbs.  
— Lower Welterweight: 40 - 100 lbs. (wolf, coyote, baboon, chimpanzee)  
— Upper Welterweight: 100 - 200 lbs. (panda, gorilla, black bear)

\- Middleweight: 200 - 500 lbs.  
— Lower Middleweight: 200 - 300 lbs. (orangutan, cougar, reindeer, tapir, kangaroo)  
— Upper Middleweight: 300 - 500 lbs. (grizzly bear, moose, camel, caribou)

\- Heavyweight: 500 - 1,000+ lbs.  
— Lower Heavyweight: 500 - 1,000 lbs. (polar bear, bison, yak, buffalo, giraffe)  
— Upper Heavyweight: 1,000+ (elephant, rhino, hippo, horse)

Anyway, if you've made it this far, thanks for sticking around - and I hope you enjoyed the story! Let me know what you thought?

Till next time, happy reading!  
~ket


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